


A Lesson In Manners

by MidnightOwl (beewitch)



Series: Requests [1]
Category: DC Extended Universe
Genre: Blood, Gen, Knives, Torture, Vomiting, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 14:34:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18875146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beewitch/pseuds/MidnightOwl
Summary: Black Mask gets his hands on Robin after he’s been snooping, and takes it upon himself to give him a lasting lesson in manners.Graphic torture, please read the tags before reading.





	A Lesson In Manners

**Author's Note:**

  * For [74lingcc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/74lingcc/gifts).



> Request for @74lingcc:  
> something hurt？  
> like a knife？write the name in the body？  
> （sorry my English no good i have more thing i don”t konw how to talk  
> and so happy you write this i so like hurt dami)
> 
> After reading this comment I saw some twitter posts about how Black Mask had gotten his hands on two robins (Steph & Jason) and so I got thinking about what he’d do to Damian. This is EXTREMELY GRAPHIC please read the tags before reading any further.

A sharp movement in the warehouse he was staking out caught his eye. There’d been multiple reports of men moving shipments at strange hours and Damian was determined that tonight he’d finally find out who was behind it. Silently he leapt across the few rooftops between himself and the warehouse and slid in through an upper story window. He crept across the catwalk and perched himself out of sight to watch as masked men hurried around with a few crates, loading them into vans that claimed to be for plumbing and various other odd jobs. He highly doubted that that’s what they were being used for. One of the men dropped a crate as he watched and the lid fell off. Immediately they all began yelling at each other, and Damian used to distraction to lean forwards to catch a peek. He couldn’t quite make it out from this distance, but something metallic gleamed. There was no way Black Mask’s men were up to any good, and he had a sneaking suspicion that they were probably moving weapons of some kind. Frowning, lost in thought, he shifted back into the shadows. And felt something warm. As he startled forward a large arm wound around and pressed a cloth to his face. The person behind him huffed out an amused breath, making the hairs on the back of Damian’s neck stand on end.

“He did say one of you would be here. Aren’t you lucky he wants to see you?”

Damian felt his body go limp even as he fought. He felt the man shift him into his arms, and then he couldn’t hold on any longer and everything went dark.

When he woke, he was furious. He couldn’t believe that a False Face Society member of all people caught him. He kept his eyes closed and pretended to be unconscious still, alert for any hint of where he could be. For now he’d tamp down on his rage. For now.

A low laugh sounded surprisingly close by.

“Rise and shine. Isn’t it polite to greet your host? Show some respect.”

Damian snarled as he opened his eyes and caught sight of Black Mask.

“You’ve really rolled out the welcome haven’t you? Chaining me up in a bloody room after sending someone to kidnap me. You’re the shittiest host I’ve ever had, you bastard!”

Damian tried to kick out at him but the chains keeping his legs spread while he stood on his toes didn’t allow him enough room to get more than a few centimetres. His arms were wrenched above his head, tied to hooks in the ceiling. Separated too, so it would be obvious if he started trying to pick the locks.

Roman tutted.

“Come now. Surely you were raised to have better manners than that? First you disrupt my men and now you call me such horrible things? You’re lucky I’m nice enough to still give you the gifts I brought for you. Now say thank you like a good boy.”

Roman tilted his head and waited, like he actually expected a thank you. Damian only grew angrier and spat at him. Roman sighed, sidestepping the saliva on the floor to wheel over a large tray. Damian’s eyes grey large and his breathing sped up as he took in what was on the tray. Knives, hooks, scalpels, whips, pliers, and things Damian didn’t even know the names for took up all the space.

“Last chance boy. Play nice and we can skip all this. Prove to me that your daddy raised you with manners, or I’ll teach you myself. Now. Say thank you.”

Damian only glared at him, pride unwilling to budge. Bruce would be here any minute now, and Damian only had to wait for Roman to take his eyes off him long enough to pick the locks on his wrists. He would never suffer to give up his pride to Roman. Not when he felt sure he could escape before Roman started dealing some real harm.

“Go fuck yourself and your gifts you sadistic prick.”

Roman sighed in mock annoyance, yet he seemed to be even more cheerful. He slide off his jacket and carefully draped it over a chair in the corner of the room, took his time rolling up his sleeves. His gloves he folded neatly and rested on the seat. He picked up a large pair of scissors and began cutting away at Damian’s suit. Each piece that fell had Damian feeling increasingly worried, especially as Roman began running his fingers over his exposed scars. Goosebumps ripples in his fingers wake, and Damian squirmed away. Roman tilted his head in consideration at the remaining boots and belt.

“Now. I’m going to take your boots off, and for every time you try to kick me, I’ll pull a fingernail. You’re also going to tell me how to get that belt off without it harming me or setting any alarms off, otherwise I’ll be sure to send a delivery of your severed fingers to Batman. I’m sure you can be reasonable about this much at least, hm?”

Damian looked away from him, trying to pretend he wasn’t bothered by being so utterly naked in front of Roman. Not even his mask had been spared, which was perhaps worst of all. He’d lost his lock picks when his gloves had been cut off too. Roman took his silence as agreement and stooped down to unlace a boot. Damian waited until he was fumbling with the knot before kicking out with the other leg, hoping to catch him off guard and in the side of the head. Roman yanked the leg he was working on without even glancing over, catching him off balance. He fell, his arms harshly wrenched in their bonds as they held him up. He let out a hiss of pain. Roman quickly slid off both boots and stood.

“That wasn’t very nice. What happened to our agreement?”

Roman moved back to the tray and dropped the boots by it before grabbing a pair of pliers.

“Now I’m a nice man. You didn’t hurt me, so I’ll let you choose. Left or right hand? You’re a growing boy, I’m sure you’d rather keep your dominant hand for some alone time perhaps. And who am I to take that away from you? I was a growing boy once too, I know how it is.”

Damian flushed as Roman leered at him and clenched his hands into fists.

“Don’t you dare touch me you creep!”

Roman squeezed down on his left wrist until he unfurled his fingers, and laughed.

“You seem like a righty. Hm. I can work with that.”

Damian bit his lip harshly as the pliers slowly began to pull at his left ring finger’s nail. Though he’d dealt with far worse pain, the slowness was making it feel even worse, combined with how vulnerable he felt. His belt sat low around his hips, the only cover remaining. His finger ached as he felt the skin tear, warm blood beading on the surface. He frowned and bit down on his lip harder, refusing to give Roman the satisfaction of him crying.

Finally the nail came free. Roman set it down in a seperate tray, and ran his finger along the raw skin.

“It’s rather symbolic I feel. I want to make sure you remember me, and remember to stay out of my fucking business. Got it? Now tell me how to take this belt off before I get the saw out.”

Damian glared at him and grunted out how to disable the belt. Roman carefully placed it in the tray next to Damian’s nail. Blood slowly trickled down his hand from his finger, pooling either side of his knuckle in mockery of a ring.

“Now, to teach you some manners. We’ll start with the whip. 30 lashes perhaps?”

Roman moved round to stand behind him, idly swinging the whip. Damian’s head swivelled to watch him, uneasy at how much enjoyment Roman seemed to be taking from this. He had the feeling that if he could’ve, Roman would’ve been smiling.

Eyes wide, he could only watch as the whip came whistling through the air. Damian stumbled forward, white-hot heat lancing up his back. The chains rattled as he reached the end of them to escape and a second blow landed as he struggled. In quick succession the blows landed, his whole back burning as he whimpered and writhed. A particularly vicious strike had the whip wrapping around a thigh, the tip just barely catching him on the balls. Damian howled, sobbing as Roman laughed.

“Not so brave now Robin are you? Where’s your precious Batman now?”

Damian only gasped, the moments reprieve making the bloodied cuts burn all the more. His back felt like it had been shredded open, the pain making him forget all about his finger. His legs were shaking so bad he could hardly stand. He felt sure Roman had gone past 30 lashes.

“You’re far more fun than that blonde. I always love when they finally break and cry, but it’s so much more satisfying when you have to work for it! I’m sure you understand, you seem rather vicious yourself. And you my dear, have been one of the tougher nuts to crack. This will scar rather exquisitely!”

As he spoke he ran his bare hands over Damian’s back, pressing into where the lashes overlapped as Damian screamed and desperately tried to twist away. Finally his legs gave out, arms supporting all his weight. He shrieked as the sudden tug at his skin reopened some of the clotted cuts, felt his wrists rubbed raw from struggling burn. A firm, bloodied hand clamped down on him, keeping him down. The whip cracked across the soles of his feet, slicing open the delicate skin. Damian retched as his feet exploded in agony. His throat ached as he kept retching, desperately gasping for breath between each wave of nausea until he had nothing left to bring up. Vomit slid down his chin, saliva stringing his lips together as he weakly panted. He could hardly see, tears blurring his vision. Desperately he hoped for his father to arrive, or one of his siblings.

“A necessary evil I’m afraid, to ensure you don’t run. You’ve shown a startling lack of manners so far so really it’s your own fault I can’t trust you.”

Roman knelt down to unshackle Damian’s ankles, careful to avoid the puddle of puke. He dusted off his knees as he stood before reaching to let down Damian’s wrists. He caught the boy as he fell, and half carried half dragged him across the room to a metal bed. He restrained him on his back, taking his time to walk around and admire the sight. Dizzy with pain Damian lay limp, sprawled across the cold metal. Despite the weight of his body putting pressure on his wounds the coolness soothed the burning.

“Just one last final touch and then I think we’re done. Just think, we could’ve avoided all of this mess if you had’ve been a good boy and minded your own business.”

As he spoke he traced bloody fingers over Damian’s chest, goosebumps rippling in their wake. He reached for a scalpel.

“And what a shame that would’ve been.”

He murmured to himself. Slowly he brought the blade down, steadily following the bloody trail he’d left behind. Damian shrieked as his skin split, tried to arch away in vain. Roman steadied him with a firm hand. Each slice was controlled, deep enough to scar. Damian’s voice finally gave out, left him staring with vacant eyes as tears continued to fall. He stopped twitching, mind dissociating from all the pain.

Roman took a step back to admire his name carved into Damian’s chest. He sighed happily, dropping the knife in with the nail and uniform. He wished he could keep the boy, if only to see the eventual scars. He looked all the more beautiful, tear streaked, bloody and broken at his hands. Roman’s own suit remained perfectly clean in contrast.

“Has the lesson sunk in yet? Don’t worry, I’ll send you back to your Batman. Perhaps I’ll even add a pretty bow. You do make a rather lovely present. Don’t forget the gift message, after all I even took the time to sign it! Make sure you tell him, stay off my turf. Or the next present won’t be breathing. Got it?”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this you can find me on Twitter @beewitchwrites where I yell about ships, cosplay and writing, and sometimes post polls to help me pick what to write next. If you have any suggestions for future fics (kinks, pairings, fun toys whatever) feel free to drop them in the comments section. The nastier the better!
> 
> Please also let me know if you think I missed any tags!


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